


One that is sometimes open but often closed.

by plasticpumpkins



Category: Chronicle (2012)
Genre: M/M, lack of general religion, mentions of heaven, past and present tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticpumpkins/pseuds/plasticpumpkins
Summary: A late night conversation before everything went to hell - and then the comforting reveal of Heaven. Guess it wasn't hell after all, huh?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, the change of past tense to present tense was intentional. This was a poem that turned into rambling that turned into the prologue to a story I will probably never write. This is garbage BUT IT'S HERE LMAO

In the vastness of night, there was a phone call. It did not sound like comfort when it rang, but he answered it anyway. The smooth, unfaltering voice of the person on the other side slipped through the speaker. It is the loudest thing that Andrew Detmer would hear that night.It might be the absence of television sound draining the house of organic noise. Or maybe is it the almost startling lack of heartbeat in his chest. Steve Montgomery does not feel like Andrew originally thought he would.

He felt like the opening of dawn despite the lack of sunlight outside his window. He felt like the wavering calm of the sea in late July. He felt like hot showers, fresh sheets - hope. When his voice graced the reddened ears of a boy who could not dream - something changed.The lock on Andrew’s bedroom door did not rattle, but the one inside of his head did.The one that claimed this was too much. The one that pushed everything inside the treasure chest, the violent heart, and threw the key away.The one that does not feel the love that the world provides. It rests behind another locked door. 

One that is sometimes open. But often closed. 

Andrew told Steve the story of his childhood with a quivering voice. It was a distraction, one that made him think very hard about his lost heartbeat. He mentioned lemonade stands, dripping vanilla ice cream, and lukewarm baths. Along the way, he had given himself away to exist apathetically. There was no luxury in the future for a boy who lived in the past. He told him of the time he fell asleep on the grass outside his home as his father rattled off about the solar system.

He used to think the universe was so wide, so vast. So full of stars and planets and promise.  
He does not mention the way his father stopped being a savior, or how his memories aren’t clear.He thought it was too soon or possibly, unfortunately, too late. Steve’s low laugh from the other side edged him closer to escapism. He wondered if this conversation would get him through another week. 

He thought about the nights he spent in the shower, trying to wash the guilt from his skin. No amount of thinking would convince him that he was clean. But there, underneath his blankets, with Steve murmuring quietly on the other side, it felt safe.

Heaven is not white clouds or open space or undying love. It’s the feeling of his heart beating calmly in his chest. He had almost taken for granted the feeling of solacing silences. When death envelopes Andrew Detmer’s soul, it’s like soothing a burn. It feels like bandaging a cut. Swallowing his medicine. 

In the vastness of Heaven, there is lemonade stands, dripping vanilla ice cream, and lukewarm baths. It does not feel like comfort when he arrives, but he finds it - somewhere on a Football field. Somewhere that projects a constant sunrise. Somewhere that harbors warm oceans. Somewhere to climb into beds with cool sheets. Somewhere to take hot showers. Somewhere with infinite hope. Wherever Steve Montgomery rests.


End file.
